


green eggs not included

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Community: kissemdanno, Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve catches the scent as soon as he reaches the lanai.</p>
            </blockquote>





	green eggs not included

**Author's Note:**

> An episode coda for 1.21, Ho'opa'i. Thanks to dogeared for betaing!

Steve catches the scent as soon as he reaches the lanai. He'd left Danny sleeping when he'd headed out for a pre-dawn swim, and though the sun was just barely creeping up over the horizon, the air is thick with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee. "Hey," he says as he pads into the kitchen, "you're up early."

Danny shoots him a look out of the corner of his eye, one that would probably be more intimidating if his hair wasn't sticking up in six directions all at once. "An incredible deduction, Commander McGarrett. You ever think of going into police work?"

"You're very funny," Steve says. He pours himself a cup of coffee, snags a piece of slightly charred toast from the stack on the kitchen table. "And normally impossible to get out of bed before nine on a Sunday. I just wasn't expecting to see you up so soon."

"Am I not allowed to fix you some breakfast here?" Danny says with a martyred air. He pokes a spatula at whatever is bubbling away in the skillet in front of him. "It's your first full day without that cast on your arm, so I thought I'd, you know, mark the return of the possibility of ambidextrous hand jobs by fixing you some breakfast."

"First," Steve says, "you have to stop playing competitive Scrabble with Kono. Second, you never cook." He takes a bite out of the cold, charred toast and crunches on it loudly to prove his point. "What gives?"

"I," Danny says, "am a man of hidden depths, Steven."

Steve cocks an eyebrow at him, then leans around him to peer into the skillet.

"Danny," he says.

"Yeah?"

"This omelette you're making... it has spam in it. And what looks like chunks of pineapple."

From this angle, all Steve can see is the nape of Danny's neck, but the skin there is reddening furiously. "And? So? Therefore?" Danny says. "Can a person not indulge in some culinary experimentation?"

"A person can," Steve agrees, moving to one side and resting his hip against the counter, "but you can't. Especially not when it's... is there a whole can of spam in that thing?"

"Maybe," Danny mumbles, prodding at the spam and pineapple thing with the spatula. "Possibly, shut up."

Steve scratches at the stubble on his cheek. "Why," he says after a long moment's contemplation, staring at the omelette bubbling away in the skillet, "are you making me an omelette with all the things you hate most in the world?"

"Well, that's not true," Danny says, trying somewhat ineffectually to get the omelette to turn over, "there are lots of things I hate more than pineapple and spam—sand, for one thing, that stuff gets everywhere. Also Rachel's divorce lawyer, that guy counts as a thing rather than a person, I'm pretty sure, and—"

"Danny."

Danny huffs out a furious sigh, like Steve's trying to get him to divulge some state secrets—though of course, Steve has to admit to himself, if he actually was trying to get someone to reveal state secrets, there'd be a lot more shouting involved than this. "I just wanted to, you know... do something nice for you, and Kamekona said—"

Things suddenly become much clearer. "What exactly did Kamekona say?"

"That this thing is, like, one of your favourite breakfast foods in the world. It's this typically Hawaiian dish." Danny looks down at the thing in the skillet, wrinkling his nose for a moment before catching himself. "So I thought hey, what better way to say welcome back to the world of having two limbs and also, you know..." He mumbles something under his breath.

"What?" Steve says.

"That maybe, you know, living here isn't all bad and that there's stuff I'm willing to... adapt to." The very tips of Danny's ears are bright pink, and Steve stares at them, blinking furiously, because he feels a little stunned, a little blindsided, unprepared for Danny to sort-of give voice to all the things they've been dancing around for months, all the promises that Steve had been tempted to make each time he'd pressed his mouth to Danny's skin but had held back because he hadn't wanted to force Danny to stay.

"You're willing to adapt to spam," Steve says finally.

"There are worse things," Danny says, turning to look at Steve. His colour's still high, but his gaze is steady and his jaw's set.

"Okay," Steve says, tamping down on the smile that's threatening to develop into a full-blown grin, "first, there's something you should know, and I mean this in a completely non-metaphorical way. I hate spam. Can't stand the stuff, and Kamekona knows that." At any other time, Steve would have paused to savour the look on Danny's face, which is one of appalled outrage, but instead he presses on. "But I'm glad that you're, you know. Willing."

"To adapt," Danny supplies, like Steve didn't get it the first time—like Steve hasn't been slowly realising that all these months.

"I got that," Steve says, unable to suppress his grin anymore. He's dimly aware of the fact that they're both beaming at one another like idiots—relieves some of the pent up emotion by punching Danny lightly on the shoulder. Adapting—he could adapt.

"Good," Danny says, and shuffles a little closer to him, runs the tips of two fingers along the newly-bared skin of Steve's forearm. The fine hairs there stand up. "While we're being honest here, can I also admit in a non-metaphorical way that I'm never going to cook anything with spam in it, ever again?"

"Thank you," Steve says fervently, closes the gap between them enough that he can feel the heat of Danny's body through his thin t-shirt, his over-sized boxers. He looks down at the skillet, where the spam and the pineapple are charring and giving off a sickly sweet aroma. "Command decision," he says, turning off the stove and dumping the steaming spam-pineapple concoction into the garbage disposal.

"Sometimes," Danny says, wrapping an arm around Steve's waist, "your decision-making ability works well for all concerned. I'm surprised, but not displeased."

"Hey," Steve says, "wanna go make out?"

"Case in point," Danny says, and kisses him.


End file.
